


Creep In A T-Shirt

by StilesBastille24



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark wearing his 'Avengers' personality, apathy in your 20s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6073636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StilesBastille24/pseuds/StilesBastille24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky glares at him in the half light. “They always talk about you like that?”</p><p>“Who?” Steve asks, because if they are going to have this conversation he plans on making it as painful for Bucky as it is for him. </p><p>	“You know who, Steve,” Bucky chastises. “Those guys, the ones you call your friends. Tony Stark?”</p><p>“Those people, the ones you’re calling my friends, and the people around here in general, they’re never talking about me. They’re always talking about Captain America,” Steve explains.</p><p>	Bucky watches Steve critically. “Well as long as you’re Captain America, nobody is going to talk crap about Captain America.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creep In A T-Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this story exists because of Portugal. The Man's album Evil Friends and specifically their song Creep In A T-Shirt from the same album. It just spoke to everything that living through your twenties means to me. So I started wondering about Steve Rogers being 26 (according to the timeline I follow for the films) and what being in his twenties might feel like for him and Bucky. Obviously your twenties is different for everyone. For me, it is quite sincerely Creep In A T-Shirt. Tony from this is based on Joss Whedon's The Avengers Tony Stark. That is not how I see Tony Stark as a character, but he provided a good catalyst for this story, so I adopted him. 
> 
> Title from the song of the same name Creep In A T-Shirt by Portugal. The Man. If you haven't listened to it, totally do.

Steve Rogers never thought that he would live to see twenty-six. When he sank into the ocean, Steve kissed every year past twenty-five goodbye. It wasn’t the biggest sacrifice he’d made up until that point. Watching his best friend since childhood plummet to his death, standing there helplessly as the train shot onwards and the winter air tore through his bones, that took precedent over any other type of pain of loss Steve would ever feel again. 

Still, time moved ever onward and somehow Steve Rogers finds himself twenty-six years old, rubbing the back of his neck and frowning at his sneakers as Tony goes on another abrupt lecture about how Captain America is out of place and useless in this day and age. 

It’s nothing new or even special to Tony. Everybody takes potshots at Captain America once in a while. Doesn’t bother Steve. It’s never him their talking about. Captain America is an action figure come to life for most people, they have a hard time understanding that Steve Rogers is the living, breathing person underneath all that red, white, and blue.

Though, of course, Tony takes things to the extreme. “Not that Cap here knows anything about modern warfare. What were you fighting with back then, Cap? Bayonets? Best defense a good set of bright blue tights?”

The other Avengers are shifting uncomfortably in their various positions of repose around the meeting room in the Tower. Well, everyone except Bucky who looks ready to go Defcon 1 on Stark at any moment. 

That’s another thing Steve never expected in his life. Bucky, back from the dead. It’s a hell of a lot better than being twenty-six years old, that’s for sure.  
Steve coughs to drag Tony’s attention back to the real live person he is ranting about. “Right, well, since you’ve got no use for me, Bucky and I can just head out, right?” Steve jerks his thumb in the direction of the door behind him. 

Tony blinks, agog, as if he forgot that Steve was even there, listening to the endless faults Steve apparently has for being born in 1918 instead of 1981. “Huh – yeah – no, you serve no purpose here. All of this technology was created before you were even a blip on some poor fisherman’s sonar. Someone’ll send you the notes, by post, or owl, or smoke signals, however that worked back in your day.”

“Right,” Steve nods, cutting his eyes to Bucky. 

Bucky is glowering at Tony, eyes so narrowed they should be drilling holes through Tony’s chest, even with the arc reactor. Still, When Steve stands up and heads for the door, Bucky turns on his heel and follows sharply after Steve. The meeting room door swings shut behind them and before they are even three steps down the hall, Steve can hear Tony picking back up with his Captain America bashing. 

The ride down the elevator is silent, uncomfortably silent. Bucky is hardly ever silent unless he is well and truly pissed off. Even after the Winter Soldier de-programming, he always has something to say, not always something Steve wants to hear, but Bucky’ll say it anyway, that’s just the way he is. 

By the time they get back to their shared apartment, Steve’s palms are sweating. Bucky hasn’t said a word and that pretty much guarantees Steve is doomed to a speech chalked full of disappointment and unhappy frowns. He can already feel the resulting headache pulsing at the edges of his temples. 

Instead, Bucky surprises him by heading straight for his room. Steve stands there, feeling adrift because he was anticipating their argument so much he could practically taste it. He doesn’t stand there too long though, because soon enough Bucky is emerging back down the hallway holding their gym bag. 

“Let’s go,” Bucky directs curtly. 

Steve glances toward the television. He was kind of looking forward to catching up on Doctor Who after Bucky was done reaming him out. The gym isn’t so bad though. He turns back to Bucky with a shrug. “After you, Sergeant.” 

There’s nobody at their local boxing club when they get there, which is hardly surprising since most people aren’t inclined towards exercise at two in the morning. Tony likes to call Avengers meetings at the most horrendous times, usually in the hours after midnight when he’s been struck by a sudden thought while working on his latest Iron Man suit. 

The owner of the club is a good old Brooklyn boy now in his late seventies. He nearly tripped over himself offering Steve and Bucky exclusive access to the club, a key of their very own. Steve wouldn’t have taken Marco up on the offer, but Bucky had slid smoothly in front of Steve and accepted the key with a charming grin. 

Now, with half of the lights on, Steve is taping up his hands, watching from the corner of his eye as Bucky does the same. Bucky doesn’t bother with the metal hand, obviously, just shakes it out and flexes his fingers. 

After that, there isn’t anything except for the practiced thuds of their fists hitting the special ordered bags. Steve’s not really feeling it tonight, though. Usually he enjoys the steady repetition of practicing his drills against the sand filled canvas. It soothes him; he had spent weeks doing just this after the serum took effect. 

Steve had been adept at street fighting before the serum; hell, Bucky, aged seven, was the one who taught him not to tuck his thumb in when making a fist. But after the serum he needed to know how to throw a punch with his best force behind it. Cue the endless hours of training with a punching bag, a lowly army officer coaching him from the sidelines in bored tones. 

But tonight, instead of finding meditation in the repetition, as Steve’s punches slow, he’s thinking about Doctor Who. He’s persevered through Classic Who and has just entered the Revival Seasons. He’s thinking about Nine and the way he looks when he’s talking about his entire planet being destroyed by his own hand. Steve’s thinking about parallels to his own life that he’d rather not see. 

Of course, this is when Bucky decides he’s had it with the silent treatment and kicks at his bag with an actual growl. Steve’s attention is immediately on him and he slows his own bag with one wrapped hand. “You okay, Buck?”

His best friend glares at him in the half light. “They always talk about you like that?”

“Who?” Steve asks, because if they are going to have this conversation he plans on making it as painful for Bucky as it is for him. 

“You know who, Steve,” Bucky chastises. “Those guys, the ones you call your friends. Tony Stark?”

Steve shrugs. “Don’t exactly call them my friends, Bucky. Except for Natasha and Sam, I told you they were my teammates. That’s really not the same.”

“I don’t give a damn about that,” Bucky cuts him off. “Talk to me about Stark.”

Steve huffs a sigh and decides that boxing is definitely over for the night so he begins to unwind his tape. “He’s just like that, Buck, has a bone to pick with everybody. Nothing personal.”

Bucky’s brows shoot up incredulously. “Nothing personal? Didn’t hear him giving anybody else shit for existing.”

This is not the conversation Steve wants to be having right now. He wants to be at home watching Doctor Who while Bucky makes fun of him for how hokey all the monsters look. Instead, he tells Bucky, “It’s not personal because it’s not me he’s ragging on.”

“Come again,” Bucky says haughtily, ripping at his own tape with no finesse. 

Steve rolls his eyes, grabbing Bucky’s hand between his before his best friend can do any real damage to himself. It’s like Bucky sometimes forgets how powerful his metal arm is, or worse, he forgets what pain is and that he can feel it. 

“Those people, the ones you’re calling my friends, and the people around here in general, they’re never talking about me. They’re always talking about Captain America,” Steve explains, eyes on Bucky’s hand rather than his face.

Bucky watches Steve’s progress with the tape critically, like if Steve doesn’t get it off quick enough, he’s just going to shove Steve out of the way and go at it with his teeth. “Well as long as you’re Captain America, ain’t nobody going to be talking shit about Captain America either.”

Steve can’t help his laugh. He gets the last of the tape of Bucky’s hand, wads it up into a ball and chucks it at the garbage bin the corner. It’s a perfect shot, lands silently on top of Steve’s own wadded up tape. 

“What?” Bucky defends hotly, pulling his hand back to his chest and glaring challengingly at Steve. 

Steve shoves Bucky shoulder roughly to try and get him to relax, laughing when Bucky kicks him in the shin for his efforts. “It’s not worth it, Bucky. Everybody now, they don’t see me when they look at me or talk about me. They see Captain America, you know? It wouldn’t matter who was in it, they would still complain that he was too old fashioned or they would rejoice that he was a national treasure. I’m just the schmuck stuck walking around inside of it.”

If anything, Bucky now looks horrified and Steve feels a little bad for his brutal honesty. But there is no dishonesty between himself and Bucky, no white lies to make things seem not quite as ugly. There is no part of Steve Rogers that Bucky Barnes doesn’t know. He’d say it went vice-versa except since the Winter Soldier there are parts of Bucky that Steve knows even Bucky doesn’t know. 

“You like being Captain America,” Bucky half accuses as if Steve has been pulling some grand wool over his eyes for the past century or however you want to quantify the time they’ve been forced to inhabit. 

Steve swings his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and ushers his friend towards the front of the club, gym bag swinging from his free hand. This isn’t a conversation to be having in a half dark boxing club. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s a quiet walk back, Bucky grumbling under his breath about stupid stuff, like litter on the sidewalk, the size of the rats in the subways, and the price of a carton of milk. Back at their apartment, Steve drops off the gym bag in Bucky’s room and returns to the living room ready to get on with one of the top ten conversations he never feels like having, except Bucky isn’t there. Steve backtracks, sticking his head in his own room and finding Bucky sitting in cross legged in the middle of his bed. 

“You’re not getting out of this, pal,” Bucky explains, like he really thought Steve was going to weasel out and this was the only way to corner him, in his own room, with nowhere else to hide. 

Bucky’s shoulders are on display in the black tank top he’s wearing. He’s got on his rattiest grey sweatpants, the ones Steve first bought him after Bucky came to live with him. His hair is pulled back in a bun, but long strands of brown are still falling into his face only to be pushed harshly back behind his ears. 

Bucky used to be the epitome of suave and charm. While he had retained the charm, the past seventy years had worn away the edges of his suave replacing them with jagged protrusions of impatience and fierce determination. Of course, that was just how the rest of the world saw it. Steve had always known Bucky was a stubborn asshole so really, Bucky after the Winter Soldier is much the same even if he wears his hair different. 

With an aggrieved sigh, Steve throws himself down on the bed face first. Bucky slaps his ass for bouncing him and Steve grins into the comforter. “Tony’s always been an asshole, does it matter much beyond that?” he asks, voice muffled by the bed.

Bucky lays down next to him, elbow poking into Steve’s ribs. “I don’t give a fuck about that dickbag. Talk to me about Captain America and Steve Rogers.”

Steve groans. Bucky rewards him with a sharp pinch to the lean muscles on his sides. After a moment of squirming uncomfortably, Steve turns his head so that he’s speaking to the side of Bucky’s head instead of the bed. “You know how people always talk about how in your teens you’re going to be rebellious and filled with angst; and in your thirties you’re going to be worrying about your mortgage and how to get your kid through school?” 

“Sure,” Bucky agrees readily, always willing to go with Steve’s version of explaining things rather than demanding a direct answer.

“Well, we’re in our twenties, Buck, as much as everyone else apparently ignores it. So I’m twenty-six and my face is plastered alongside this symbol for justice and righteousness. Except they are plastering me up there with things I don’t believe in. Things like SHIELD and wars I don’t think we should be fighting. I don’t get a say in any of that because it’s not me they want, it’s Captain America, it’s the suit.” He pauses to check that Bucky is still with him.

Bucky gives a grudging hum to show he’s listening and Steve continues. “So, there’s not much I can do about that. I didn’t create Captain America, other people did and other people have kept him alive this long. I don’t have the right to take him away from them.”

He shrugs, fingers fiddling with his dark blue sheets. Bucky’s metal hand steels over to stop the motions, lacing their fingers easily and giving Steve’s hand a reassuring squeeze, encouraging him to go on. “So yeah, I’ve got a little apathy going on where the idea of ‘Captain America’ is concerned. I don’t care what people say about Captain America because I’m not Captain America, I’m Steve Rogers. And I’ll keep carrying that shield as long as it allows me to make a difference while I do so.”

Bucky’s quiet for a moment and Steve fears his best friend is gearing up for a hell of a lecture on what it means to be Captain America or something else equally as horrendous. Not that Bucky has ever done that before, but sometimes it’s hard to remember that there is someone still alive who knew Steve before he was Captain America. 

Finally, Bucky exhales a tense breath. “So what you’re saying is you’re apathetic about people shit talking Captain America because you’re saving your energy for things you care about changing?”

Steve quirks a brow, not quite sure why Bucky sounds so put out about that. “Uh, yeah, yeah that’s what I’m saying, Buck.”

“Is hating everyone around you also part of your twenties?” he asks, forcing their conversation into an abrupt left turn.

Steve doesn’t let his surprise show, but a pleased smirk ticks up the corner of his mouth anyway. “Think so because I hardly make it through the day without wishing I was back here holed up with you so I didn’t have to live through all the crap everybody else is doing.”

“Thank fucking god,” Bucky pronounces overdramatically, rolling onto his side so that his body is half on top of Steve’s. “Thought I was going insane or backtracking into my Winter Solider mindset. I can’t stop judging the shit out of everybody else, like all these assholes just walking around and I’m thinking, no way would Steve or I be caught dead doing that.” 

Steve’s grin grows and he wiggles around until he’s able to lock his leg around the back of one of Bucky’s, forcing them to stick together even more. “Don’t worry, whatever you’re thinking, I’m probably thinking it too.” 

“Like Molly down the hall? Every day I see her coming back with Chipotle for that boyfriend of hers and I have to physically restrain myself from grabbing her arm and asking, ‘Are you serious?’ That guy of hers is definitely two-timing her. I have no doubt! And she’s wasting Chipotle on his ass?” Bucky full on groans into the back of Steve’s neck which sets Steve off laughing.

Bucky doesn’t desist, just moves onto his next grievance. “Or Carl from the floor below? Trying to pass the bar examination, stops everybody to complain about it. And it’s like, hello? Buddy? That ain’t ever gonna happen just because you spend every free second marathoning Law and Order instead of actually studying.” 

Steve laughs harder, tears wetting the corners of his eyes, but he fights down the laughter to offer, “Sandy on the third floor? Every time I see her and her kid Joey I just think, by god, lady, if you don’t quit letting your kid throw the tantrums of the century he’s going to grow up to be a monster.”

“A raging dickhead is more like it!” Bucky intercedes. “That kid is demonic, I swear, Steve. I saw him kick a cat! What kind of five year old kicks a cat? And then Sandy’s all like cooing at him. ‘Oh was he a mean cat, Joey? Did that mean old cat bite you?’ What the hell are you talking about, lady! That cat was just being a cat, licking itself in the sun and you’re demented ass kid went over and kicked it for no reason at all! Demon spawn!”

Steve clutches his side, laughing so hard he’s getting an ache in his ribs. “Oh my god, yes,” he agrees when he can finally suck down some air. When he looks up, Bucky is smiling down at him, the lines of tension around his eyes relaxed. 

“So that’s normal then,” Bucky double checks. “Thinking everybody else is an idiot and not wanting to have to suffer through their presence?”

“Entirely,” Steve promises.

“And the apathy? That’s legit too? Because I don’t give a fuck about some stuff.” He sounds nervous and Steve feels his heart twist. Jesus, he’s an asshole. He should have been talking about this stuff with Bucky ages ago. 

“Think so,” he offers. “I’m sure as hell apathetic about how everyone else feels about Captain America. I can be Captain America for as long as they need me to since Captain America is Steve Rogers to them and not the other way around. But for me, I’m still Steve Rogers who happens to be Captain America.” 

“So what do you care about?” Bucky asks, sitting up on his knees before grabbing Steve’s legs and tugging them towards him so Bucky can easily settle on top of them. 

Currently, Steve cares a lot more about Bucky being that close to his dick than he cares about discussing this. But, Bucky’s asking and he owes it to him, so he crosses his hands behind his head and lists out his most recent top concerns. 

“The Black Lives Matter Movement, police reform, gun control, healthy representation of all people in media,” he pauses to look up at Bucky who is watching him intently. “I could go on, but,” he shrugs against the sheets, “you have to start somewhere.”

“How you going to start?” Bucky asks, he stretches out over top of Steve, pulling Steve’s hands from behind his head then locking his hands around Steve’s wrists, effectively pining him to the bed. 

“We’ve got a press conference coming up next month. Somebody’s going to ask me something stupid about Captain America. I’ve got a lot of stuff to say, things I believe Captain America needs to stand for. So next month, people are going to have to decide if they really want Steve Rogers to be Captain America, because what I stand for, he stands for.” 

Bucky grins, his feral smile, the one he uses before he’s about to destroy something. Steve’s hoping it’s aimed for the haters he is naturally going to accrue in reminding them that Steve Rogers is the guy who walks around as Captain America and Steve Rogers has a goddamn lot to say. 

Although, he also wouldn’t mind if Bucky’s grin was aimed for him. Steve enjoys being destroyed by Bucky, it leaves him feeling sweaty and well worked out. Bucky leans down, breathing against Steve’s neck as he says, “That is the Steve Rogers I know. I’ve never known you to keep your mouth shut about one damn thing in our entire lives.” 

Steve works to make his smile as innocent as possible. “But Bucky, didn’t you know, I’m just a down home boy who loves his mama?”

Bucky tilts his head back, the long slope of his neck on display as he laughs hard. “Jesus, Rogers, I fucking knew your mama. Only person with a body tinier than yours and a voice louder.”

Steve’s smile morphs into a grin. “What can I say, I learned from the best.”

“Sure did,” Bucky agrees, looking back down at Steve, corners of his eyes crinkled up in a smile. 

“And you, Buck?” Steve asked, tilting his head. “What are you feeling apathetic about?”

Bucky sighs gustily. “I don’t give a flying fuck about my trauma. I don’t want to talk to somebody about it. I don’t want to go on a press tour and explain away why I’m innocent of murdering good men and women. I’m not. I was used to do those things. But it’s my burden to bear and I don’t think I owe it to nobody to put that on parade for the rest of the world to see.”

“You don’t,” Steve agrees immediately. “And you’re allowed to not want to talk about it. Everyone deals with this stuff in their own way, don’t ever feel guilty about that, Bucky.”

“I don’t,” Bucky says readily. “Just, I know everyone else thinks I should.”

“Screw them,” Steve says as he tries to think who’s been harassing Bucky and the level of dressing down he should give them when he finds out.

“Rather screw you.” Bucky’s grin is back, complete with eyebrow waggling. It’s a very compelling seduction.

Steve arches up into Bucky as the latter leans down to kiss him. It’s messy, tongues kind of everywhere instead of perfectly melding. There’s more spit than is probably attractive, but Bucky’s biting his lower lip and Steve can’t help his impulse to grind his hips upwards into Bucky.

Bucky’s mouth widens in a smile at the contact and he presses his weight more firmly down on Steve, pushing him back into the mattress. He breaks off the kiss with a wet pop and for a second, Steve tries to chase after him, not understanding why he’s allowed to catch his breath before he’s even really run out of it.

“I’m still going to beat Tony’s ass for the shit he says about you. Nobody is talking shit about my fucking boyfriend. Especially not Tony fucking Stark. Guy wears lifts. You know that, Stevie? Lifts.”

Steve bursts out laughing, turning his face to bury it in the pillow as he thinks about Tony’s sneakers. “He said he had an arch problem or something.”

“Bullshit!” Bucky shouts. “He wears goddamn lifts because he’s got ego issues with his height.”

“Whatever,” Steve says through his laughter. “Just get back down here and keep kissing me.”

“Pushy, pushy,” Bucky grouses, but he lines his mouth back up with Steve’s and grinds down firmly on Steve who is already more than halfway to go time. It’s exactly what Steve wants.

They’ve got four years left to figure out their twenties and get ready for their thirties. Four years to be apathetic about the shit they don’t really care about. Four years to find contentment in judging everyone around them. Four years to find solace only in each other. Four years or the rest of their lives. Because Steve asked Peggy last time he visited her and she swore she never stopped feeling like she was in her twenties. It’s a silver lining, Steve really doesn’t care about paying for a fucking mortgage.

He does care about the hands tugging at his t-shirt, the way that Bucky smells like sweat and heat, the fact that with one hand free, Steve can tug down both his sweats and Bucky’s. “You going to beat Tony up for me?” Steve asks, breathless and panting as he nearly wrestles Bucky out of his tank top.

“Yeah, that’s how much I love you. I’m going to beat up the shit talking, lifts wearing, robot genius.” Bucky bites and sucks a mark onto Steve’s neck.

Steve laughs happily as Bucky’s chest lands against his. “I thought you were all about advocating picking on someone your own size.”

Bucky grins at Steve before shimmying down his body, bending until he’s nosing at Steve’s tented boxers. “In those lifts, he is.”

Steve cracks up, gasping when Bucky licks at him through the cotton fabric. “Fuck, Bucky. I think I’m in love.”

“Know you are champ.” Bucky winks up at him, before he pulls off Steve’s boxers and chucks them onto the floor. “Love you too, pal,” Bucky says before going down on him like the absolute dream that he is.

Steve’s a gasping, moaning mess, fingers all tangled up in Bucky’s hair, pulling just this side of too hard. Bucky groans at the force of it, neither of them are exactly the gentle type. Life hasn’t been a cakewalk , they aren’t opposed to things getting rough.

When Steve comes, it’s with Bucky’s name on his lips and Bucky’s metal hand on his chest, pushing him down into the mattress to keep him from moving. In the blink of an eye, Bucky’s kneeling up over him, right hand on his dick, kissing Steve desperate and hard.

Steve curls one hand in Bucky’s hair, angling Bucky’s head just right for biting into his mouth and sucking on his tongue. He winds his right hand down, taking over Bucky’s motions. Bucky bites Steve’s lip hard enough to bleed and comes all over Steve’s chest. Steve is entirely certain this is Bucky marking his territory and Steve doesn’t mind in the least. 

It’s nearly four in the morning when they climb beneath the covers, cleaned off and with fresh boxers. Bucky sprawls out half on top of Steve, his preferred sleeping position, breath hot against the hollow of Steve’s neck. His eyelashes tickle Steve’s skin as he settles in. 

“You know I’ve never cared about the Captain America bit, right, Stevie?” Bucky asks, voice hushed in deference to their attempt at falling asleep.

“Course, Buck,” Steve assures him, a smile playing on his lips. And Bucky might be the only, but that’s alright with Steve, because Steve’s lost his entire world, for better or worse, but he’s still got Bucky, and that’s all he’s ever needed.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://www.blueeyeschina.tumblr.com)


End file.
